


The Lengths We Go To

by einfach_mich



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles Stilinski, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:10:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/einfach_mich/pseuds/einfach_mich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles takes on the Alpha pack, alone. Derek is left to pick up the pieces. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>It’s like my dad always says, the minute you’re completely sure you’ve got everything under control is about two seconds before you get knocked on your ass.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lengths We Go To

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd. It ate my brain. Don't know if I'll add more. It kind of feels complete how it is. Just wanted it off my hard drive so I could stop thinking about these two and do some other things, like sleep.

The thing about labels is they're a cheat. They’re a shortcut you take when you don’t want to do the real work. It’s that laziness that will eventually get you killed. 

It makes you over confident. Sends you running in, when you should be running away. Makes you underestimate the wrong person and that is where these assholes went wrong. It’s like my dad always says, the minute you’re completely sure you’ve got everything under control is about two seconds before you get knocked on your ass.

Funny, I should think about him now. Or maybe it's only fitting. He is after all the reason I'm here, surrounded by a growling pack of Alpha werewolves intent on tearing me into tiny pieces of bloody viscous. 

Good visual, huh? I've always been better with visuals. I have to see a concept to grasp it. One of the draw backs of my ADHD or one of the unexpected benefits. It all depends on how you view it.

Like right now. I'm standing in the middle of the lacrosse field, red hoodie zipped up to my chin, hood pulled over my head, and a worn baseball bat in my hand. The bat seems out of context, I know, but give me a minute and it will all come together. 

This is were the labels come into play, because right now all I am is a boy with a bat. A human. Prey for the powerful supernatural creatures who are, at this very second, closing in on me. A arrogant pack of Alphas all laughing through protruding canines at my seemingly foolish display of courage. 

That's just the thing. They don't know me. If they did they wouldn't be laughing. 

I am neither courageous or stupid. Even when I doing something that seems completely stupid and random, I have a reason. There is thought and purpose behind it. Tonight is no different. 

I’ve been waiting seven long days for this. Ever since I put my father in the ground, after he was a victim of an apparent mauling. Right.

On that day I stopped pretending that my life would ever even resemble something normal. As I watched them lower the coffin into that dark hole, I told Derek. I looked up into his big, dumb face and told him they were mine. No one else gets to kill them, but me.

He didn’t laugh at me, like I expected him to, which was strange. Though no stranger than him showing up to my father’s funeral and not leaving my side for the next seven days. I expect hovering from Scott, but he was off protecting Alison from the Alpha pack. Which was what Derek claimed he was doing with me.

Again, I’m not stupid. I know he was watching me. Trying keep me from doing what I’m about to do. What he should have done the day these murders set foot into our town. 

It’s strange that in this, of all moments, I finally get the wolf territory thing. I get why Derek’s been so frantic to make a new pack, to make them strong. With opportunistic fucks like these assholes waiting at the borders you’ve got to be strong. You’ve got to stand your ground and protect what you love.

I was too late to save my father, but that won’t happen again. Not ever again. This is my town and no furry, fucking trespassers are going to be allowed to breathe my air for one more night. 

Facing down an entire wolf pack on my own is crazy, I know. But it is the only way to be sure to get all of them. The only way I could do it myself. 

Deaton understood. That’s why he helped me plan this out and even fed Derek and the rest of the pack a false lead. Sending them to the other side of town, to keep them safe while I took care of business. 

The Alpha’s growl, flashing their teeth and start to circle me. I ignore the theatrics. This is just a game to them. A wolf playing with a mouse. Only these wolves don’t know that I’m no ordinary mouse. That metaphor isn’t really working, but fuck it. I still feel like a badass, facing them with nothing but a bat and my big ol’ dick. 

Actually, I’m about average, but ‘big ol’ dick’ sounds cooler. Never mind that. Stay focused, Stilinski. 

I hold the bat down in a casual, I don’t give a fuck, kind of stance. My eyes are locked on the leader and her red eyes. She doesn’t seem to like that I can meet her gaze without showing fear. Good. I smile at her and give her a little wink, even toss in a little kissy face for good measure. She actually jerks back, like I spit in her face. The look of disgust disbelief on her face is priceless. Looks like feral werewolves don’t go for that anymore than human girls do. Excellent.

She lunges for me and I introduce her face to the meaty end of my bat. There’s a sickening crack as the wood shatters and splinters in my hand, because apparently werewolves have really hard heads. I should know this, but it doesn’t matter anyway. 

The others are closing in fast. I drop the bat to the ground and shove my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. Only one chance to get this right. 

I pull out the modified smoke grenades and pop the pins with my thumbs. They roll out of my hands as the wolves hit me from all sides. I can feel their teeth slicing through my clothes and sinking into my skin, cutting down to the bone. 

Despite the pain, I smile, because I know the punch line. 

Thick, purple clouds billow out of the grenades and quickly cover us in a blanket of smoke. The air is filled with a soapy, lavender-like smell that mingles with the scent of my blood. I inhale the smoke and only choke a little. The wolves however aren’t fairing as well. Sucks to be you.

They release me, and I fall in a bloody heap to the ground. Their screams filling my ears and I manage to roll onto my side to watch them fall to the ground. The veins in their necks turning black and theirs black goo flowing out of her their eyes, nose and ears. The gas is some nasty shit. Wolfsbane mixed with a special something from Deaton’s bag of tricks turned into an airborne agent. There was no guarantee it would work, but judging by the way the werewolves are foaming at the mouth and convulsion on the ground, it did. What am I saying? Of course it did, I’m a fucking genius. 

It’s the last thought I have before I pass out from the pain and blood loss, like a giant pussy. Oh well, you can’t have everything. Getting to hear the screaming deaths of the assholes who murdered my dad is a decent consultation prize.

I come to on the hard, cold table in Deaton’s office. Derek’s doing that thing with his face when he doesn’t want you to know he’s worried. It involves his eyebrow dipping down to his bottom lip, making him looking like a werewolf version of Oscar the Grouch. I catch myself before I laugh out loud. Not because I care about laughing at Derek. Shit, that’d be a bonus, but the throbbing pain in every inch of my body is a strong sign that laughing would hurt like a son of a bitch. So, I’m not going to risk it.

Instead I try to shift a little on the most uncomfortable table in existence and get a big Derek mitt to the chest for my trouble. “OUCH!”

He rolls his eyes, but removes his hand. “Stay still.”

“I’m fine,” I protest, but don’t move, because I’m not stupid. I know I’m fucked up and any kind of movement is going to suck big. Doesn’t mean I have to be an easy patient.

“No you’re not,” Deaton joins the let’s-coddle-Stiles-even-though-he-just-took-out-an-entire-alpha-pack-on-his-own party. 

“Can’t you just give me something for the pain and send me home?” I yawn, and roll my head to give Deaton a lazy grin. I’m being pain in the ass, I know, but I think I’ve fucking earned it. 

“I already gave you a shot of morphine,” he says, setting the hypodermic needle on the tray beside the table. “Judging by your face you’re already feeling the affects.”

“Sweet.” My mouth goes mushy all of a sudden and feel like I’m floating. Then I realize I’m in Derek’s arms. Great. I might as well get a pink dress and change my name to Zelda.

“Keep him comfortable and hydrated” Deaton’s talking to Derek, like I’m not even there, but I gave up on caring, because I’m warm and my brains all fuzzy.

We leave the vet office in Derek’s new car. I don’t know what it is, but it’s fast, expensive and foreign. He drives really slow, or it seems like it, which is ridiculous. I tell him as much and he tells me to shut up. 

We pulls up to my house, the head lights reflect off the empty windows and I feel the bottom of my stomach drop to somewhere near my shoes. “No.”

“What?” Derek turns off the engine and glares at me.

“Not here,” I plead. 

“Where then?” He turns to look out his window, putting his arms on his steering wheel.

It’s weird. He looks tired and kind of sad. It reminds me of the way he looked at my dad’s funeral, like he was the one who lost someone. 

“I just don’t want to be alone.” I’m amazed I’m able to get out so many words out when I feel like I’m sinking into the seat, like it’s soft leather quicksand. Morphine. What a drug. 

“You won’t be alone.” He gets out and slams his door before I can muster the energy to protest more. 

He carefully extracts me from the passenger seat and carries me, like a fucking bride, into my own house and up the stairs to my room. I hate this, but at least I’m in my bed. Derek stands there awkwardly, while I clumsily fumble with the buttons of my fly.

“Un-fucking-believable,” Derek grumbles, slapping my hands away and tugs open my jeans with one hand.

He steps back, looking put out and pissy as ever. I don’t bother to thank him, because fuck him. Instead I start a sluggish hip shimmy to get my jeans off. I stare at my bare legs and sock covered feet, debating whether to leave them on when I notice that I’m not wearing my shirt.

It makes sense, my hoodie and the t-shirt under it are probably blood soaked rags. I stare down at the grey shirt that’s practically hanging of me and raise my eyes to take in Derek. His leather jacket is suspiciously zipped up all the way. No fucking way.

“Is this yours?” 

Derek stiffens, but his face is that same annoyed grimace. “Yes, your shirt and jacket were shredded.”

“Oh, well...cool.” I still can’t bring myself to thank him. So I distract myself with the monumental task of getting myself under my comforter. After doing a embarrassing impression of an inch worm crawling into bed, I pull the comforter up to my chin. 

Derek takes a seat in my desk chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Rest.”

“Are you going to sit there like that all night, cause it’s kinda creepy.”

“I’m not sleeping on your floor.” He gives a dignified huff of air out of his nose, like dogs do when they’re offered food they don’t like.

“You could sleep at the foot of the bed.” I offer with a grin, because I’m high and feel like pushing my luck. 

“Shut up and sleep, Stiles.” He rolls his eyes and turns to look out my window, but I can see a hint of a smile on his lips. 

“Night.” I mumble, my eyes already closing.


End file.
